


Love in the Time of Corona

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, One Night Stands, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Brienne hadn't even wanted to go to the party in the first place. She hadn't meant to leave said party to have a drunken one night stand with a man she didn't even like. And shedefinitelyhad not anticipated the quarantine.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 123
Kudos: 233
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Brienne woke up naked before dawn with the worst hangover of her life and her sleeping nemesis sprawled all over her. She started and immediately regretted it – the sudden movement made her head hurt even worse.

 _Right,_ she thought. The party. She and Lannister had both been drinking, quite a lot, while they’d argued over…something. Then they’d gone back to his place. There had to have been a few steps between those things, but Brienne couldn’t quite remember – she remembered _what_ they’d done, but the _how_ and _why_ of it were a blur. _I’m never drinking again._

Her face burned as she looked down at Lannister’s arm, thrown over her bare waist. They’d never had a conversation without arguing! What in the seven hells had possessed them that they’d actually slept together?

“Move over,” she mumbled, shoving at him, but Lannister didn’t wake. She grumbled and managed to extricate herself anyway, gathering her clothes from where they’d scattered on the floor. The movement made her stomach roll, but she gritted her teeth and kept going – better to recover in the comfort of her own home than spend another second in Jaime’s. In fact, now that she thought about it, surely it was a good sign that he was still asleep – this way, she could get out of there with her dignity intact. Jaime had never missed an opportunity to mock her, and right then, Brienne’s head hurt far too much for her to retaliate in kind. And Jaime was incapable of feeling embarrassment, while every little thing made Brienne flush. Gods be good, how could she look him in the eye after this?

She picked up the pace.

She glanced back at Jaime once she was dressed. Mercifully, he was still lying with his face buried in the pillows. Brienne crept out of his bedroom and closed the door behind her. Where had her purse ended up?

She’d had it in her hand as Jaime unlocked the door…then he’d kissed her and backed her inside…and it had slipped from her shoulder when he’d offered her another drink in the kitchen. Right. The kitchen. She just had to fetch it, then she could leave. Though maybe she should make coffee…she couldn’t quite remember the advice Rhaenys’s cousin Arianne had given them on one night stand etiquette, but surely coffee had been part of it. Sneaking off without making some just seemed rude.

She brewed a pot, then, unable to resist the aroma, drank a cup as the sun began to rise. By the time she’d washed the mug and set it on the drying rack, light had filled the kitchen. She grabbed her purse. It was _really_ past time she got going.

She didn’t make it to the door.

“Leaving so soon?”

Brienne nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned slowly. Jaime stood in the doorway of his bedroom, arms folded, wearing only a pair of sweats, slung low on his hips. He had drunk every bit as much as she had, and was a decade older than her besides, but _he_ didn’t look like he had a hangover. His bedhead somehow looked _good._ Life was so unfair. Brienne raked a hand through her hair, trying to tame it. From Jaime’s smirk, it wasn’t working.

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “I have to…be elsewhere. See you at work on Monday.”

Jaime blinked languidly and leaned against the doorframe. “I somehow doubt both of those things.”

“What?”

Jaime arched an eyebrow. His smirk deepened. “You should check your phone.”

“My phone?” she echoed, and dug inside her purse for it. Her eyes widened at the number of alerts. She scanned them quickly, then raised her gaze slowly to meet Jaime’s. “Seriously?”

Jaime laughed and pushed away from the door, heading over to the kitchen with an absurd level of grace for this hour in the morning. “So it seems. Might as well drop that purse and come have some breakfast with me. Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for quite a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...am very sorry. You know how it is, you hit a roadblock on your serious fics about Rhaenys Targaryen and her father issues and end up writing nonsense because pandemics are scary and sometimes you just have to pretend everything is fine. Also, don't go to parties. Self isolation, baby!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! I'm in awe, I'm not at all used to this level of response. Is this what happens when you write ship fic? _Damn._

Brienne poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down as Jaime moved around the kitchen at dizzying speed, making breakfast. She closed her eyes in the hopes of conquering the nausea. It didn’t work. When Jaime sat across from her and offered her the pan of eggs, her only consolation was that if she was turning as green as she felt, she couldn’t possibly still be blushing. Jaime laughed. If he kept doing that, only one of them was going to make it out of quarantine, and it wouldn’t be him.

“How can you possibly be this much of a lightweight?” he marveled. “You’re twenty five and bigger than I am!”

She gritted her teeth. “Not a lightweight.”

“ _Right_ ,” Jaime said, dragging out the word, nodding sagely. He gestured at her. “That completely explains…this.”

It turned out she _could_ meet his gaze after all – she fixed him with a glare she hoped was withering. It wasn’t. Jaime just laughed again. Brienne scowled. Gods give her strength.

“ _One,_ ” she told him with exaggerated patience, holding up a finger, “the problem wasn’t the _drinking._ I was perfectly fine last night. The problem is the _hangover._ Two, I’m twenty eight, not twenty five.”

Jaime took a bite of his eggs and washed it down with a sip of coffee, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, of course, of course. Was there a three?”

“ _Three_ ,” Brienne repeated, “is that I’m going to need you to shut your damn mouth for five minutes. _Please._ ”

Jaime raised his mug to his lips again, ostensibly shutting up, but Brienne would have sworn she heard him mumbling something that included the phrase _not complaining last night._ Her face went hot. She pressed her forehead against the lovely, firm, flat surface that was Jaime’s dining table for a moment. “Don’t make me throw something at you.”

Jaime tilted his head to the side and pretended to think about it.

“No,” he mused. “You wouldn’t. You’d never injure your only companion on the first day of quarantine.”

She nodded vehemently, even as the motion sent a corkscrew into her brain. “Would too. And if you don’t shut up already, I’m going to be the only one leaving the quarantine.

“Tarth!” Jaime exclaimed in mock scandal. “You wouldn’t. Surely you don’t want to turn back up at work without me and have to explain that the reason our coworkers will never see me again is because I wanted some conversation in my own home. They’ll have to handle all my cases!”

“I’d be fine with it,” Brienne said, shrugging. “I’d just…lure Rhaenys away from the public defender’s office. She was top of our class, she’d take your place, do a great job, and everyone would thank me.”

Jaime pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch. That hurts, Tarth.”

“Truth does. Now will you _please._ Hush.” Brienne buried her head in her arms and refused to look up. Jaime snorted.

“You really are much more fun now than when we met.” He got up and went to the toaster. “How well do you like your toast?”

Brienne gestured to the left without looking at him. “That way.”

“That way,” Jaime repeated. “Very helpful. Completely clear.”

“All the way,” Brienne insisted to the table. “As light as it goes.”

“That’s disgusting,” he said, but she heard him push the lever anyway. It wasn’t long before the toast popped up. Brienne dragged her head off the table, and Jaime set a plate and a glass of water in front of her.

“Your slightly warm bread,” he said, and patted her shoulder, moving back into his seat. “Come on. Eat. Drink. It’ll make you feel better.”

He was right. He knew it. She knew it. He knew she knew it. That didn’t mean she had to like it. She took a savage bite out of her toast and glared at her coworker again when he clapped mockingly.

He really was unreasonably beautiful, she thought, lounging in his chair like a satisfied cat as he was, his hair a halo around his face, the morning sun casting him in a warm, golden glow. She, on the other hand, probably resembled a grumkin. Whatever a grumkin was.

“Well,” she said after draining the water. “If we’re stuck here, we might as well get started on the contracts for the Bracken case.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “You really are no fun.”

She started to bristle, but he gestured at the bathroom before she could snap at him. “There’s aspirin in the cabinet and a comb in one of the drawers. I’ll get you some clothes if you want to shower. It’ll hardly be the end of the world if we wait another hour to start something we weren’t even supposed to start until Monday.”

She deflated. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

Jaime smiled sardonically and got up. She followed suit, then made a face. “You don’t happen to have a spare toothbrush, too, do you?”

She couldn’t even mind when his laugh followed her into the bathroom – not after she retrieved the spare toothbrush from underneath the sink.

“One hour down,” she told her reflection once she’d finished cleaning her teeth. “Three hundred and thirty five to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I repeat: I'm very sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you _kidding me_?” Brienne said. “We can’t just add a clause demanding the Blackwoods pay the Brackens’ legal fees in the event of any future disputes, that’s insane. It’ll get taken out and we’ll get fired once the Blackwoods complain. And it’s a merger! Why would they be having any disputes?”

Jaime scoffed. “Clearly, you’ve never dealt with them before. We’d be doing them a favour.”

“Oh, and how’s that?”

“The Brackens and Blackwoods have been fighting for generations. No merger is going to stop them. At least this way, there’s some incentive to get along.”

Brienne grimaced. “And here I thought that was the merger.”

“Tytos and Janos are second cousins,” he explained with a grin. He leaned back in his chair, reaching his arms above his head to stretch. Brienne kept her gaze determinedly on her notepad until he’d stopped. “If marital ties weren’t enough to get them to cooperate, a corporate merger definitely won’t be.”

“Seriously?” Brienne shook her head in disbelief. “We still can’t add the clause! It’s dishonest.”

“Oh, come _on._ You said it yourself, they’re merging! They shouldn’t be having any more disputes _._ And if the Blackwoods have such a big problem with it, they can take it out.”

“It is,” Brienne insisted. “You’re hoping that they don’t read it.”

“We’re _lawyers,_ ” Jaime said, and the condescending lilt of it made her want to smack him. “It’s our job to get the best possible deal for our clients. If they –”

“I know what our job is, thank you. Have _you_ forgotten the part about our duty to disclose?”

“We _are_ disclosing, nowhere does it say we need to verbally inform them of anything!”

“Just because it’s not a rule doesn’t mean we shouldn’t!”

Jaime groaned. “Fine, what about if we change it to if the dispute was initiated by the Blackwoods? It’ll protect our client from frivolous lawsuits _and_ reduce the likelihood of them being the ones to incite conflict.”

Brienne gritted her teeth. “Only if we add the inverse. Even-handed, no one can argue, and it reduces the likelihood of _any_ conflict.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

She viciously crossed out the line and scribbled in the correction in red ink. They lapsed into a brief silence, ultimately broken by Brienne when she grumbled, “I can’t believe I’m quarantined with you, of all people.”

“Hey, that was entirely your call. If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one that said we should go back to my place.”

“I was calling _your_ bluff,” she argued. “ _You_ were the one that said–”

She cut herself off. Her face burned, but she refused to blink first. “ _Gods_. How about we just agree now to never mention that again? Bad enough that I’m stuck here with you for two weeks.”

“Woooow,” Jaime drawled. “You could do a lot worse, you know. I’m a pretty good option.”

That sounded uncomfortably like what he’d said the previous night. Brienne’s flush deepened. She swallowed and tried not to think about the heel of his hand, rubbing her just right. Jaime cleared his throat.

“I mean,” he said, sounding a little flustered for the first time. Somehow, it wasn’t as comforting as Brienne would have thought. “I have great water pressure, fast Internet, plenty of food, and a fully stocked bar. What more could we possibly need?”

“I,” Brienne said, “am never drinking again.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Jaime set his sheaf of papers on the coffee table and got to his feet. “You’re a much better conversationalist when you’re hungover.”

“Oh, ha, ha. And where are you going, we still have work to do.”

“No, we don’t,” he said, already on the ground across the room, digging through his bag. “The rest of the files are back at the office.”

Brienne checked her watch and bit her lip to stop herself from groaning aloud. They were only four hours into quarantine. “So…”

Jaime strode back over to join her on the couch, laptop in hand.

“So,” he said, opening the lid. “Since we can’t work and we can’t leave, it looks like you’re just going to have to sit there and watch _The Loves of Queen Nymeria_ with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how's everyone's quarantine going? (If you're wondering why Rhaenys is tagged, she'll be showing up in probably the next chapter.)


	4. Chapter 4

She should have been suspicious when the first episode opened not with the titular Nymeria, but with a young man, standing alone atop a tower. But Mors Martell was as important to the unification of Dorne as the princess of refugees he had married, and the actor playing him was exceedingly handsome, so Brienne had snagged a few chips from the bag Jaime had run off to fetch before hitting play and leaned back against the sofa cushions to enjoy.

Her serenity lasted as the scene changed to several people standing on the deck of a ship, the sea sparkling in the sunlight. It did _not_ last through the sailors bowing before a woman climbing onto the deck and addressing her as _Queen Nymeria._

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Brienne said, throwing her hands into the air as Jaime cracked up next to her. “She was _Rhoynish._ ”

The blonde actress playing her was decidedly not.

Brienne remembered when she’d first read _The Loves of Queen Nymeria,_ back in eighth grade. It had been Rhaenys’s copy, and Rhaenys’s praise for it had been effusive.

_“You have to read this,” the girl gushed as she pressed the paperback into Brienne’s hands. “My mom’s friend wrote it. You’ll love it, it’s perfect.”_

And it had been.

Brienne and Rhaenys did not have the same taste in fiction. Brienne loved fairytales and romances, stories of valour and fantastic adventures. Rhaenys preferred more grounded stories, ones that delved into logistics and motivations – political dramas or gritty mysteries. Her hidden romantic streak favoured bittersweet tragedies over any happy ending.

Ashara Dayne’s painstakingly researched novel had managed to be all of those things at once. It was the reason that Brienne knew that for all that Nymeria had gone down in legend as a warrior queen, her title had in fact been the _Princess_ of Ny Sar and that the Dornish tradition of titling the head of their ruling house as prince or princess had been adopting from the Rhoynar, and the reason that when assigned a paper on the development of the modern Westerosi code of law, Rhaenys had cheered and immediately started writing about the importance of Dornish unification. It was the reason they’d gone rafting down the Rhoyne immediately after graduating high school and the reason that when Rhaenys had introduced Brienne to some of her cousins, Brienne had been struck utterly speechless.

When Brienne had first met Nymeria Sand, her immediate thought was that the older girl looked just like the princess whose name she shared must have looked. Nym was tall and elegant and beautiful, with silken hair wound into a long braid and sharply intelligent, all-seeing predator eyes. When she moved, it was with the liquid grace and coiled strength of a tiger. It had been like seeing the Princess of Ny Sar step right out of the pages of her favourite novel.

Thirteen year old Brienne, already tall and gawky, had hoped that one day, her height would grow to be more like Nym’s. Needless to say, it hadn’t. If she resembled any of Rhaenys’s cousins, it was Nym’s older sister Obara – tall, muscular, and far less beautiful than her sisters.

It wasn’t what Brienne had hoped for. But Obara had never cared what anyone thought of her, and Briene tried to follow that example. Unfortunately, she had never quite mastered that art of indifference.

The actress supposedly playing the famed princess looked even less like Nym than Brienne did, if that were at all possible. Brienne was at least _tall._ The actress was short and curvy, with her fair hair loose around her round face and absolutely none of Nym’s effortless poise. Brienne couldn’t think of anyone _less_ like she’d imagined the legendary cofounder of House Nymeros Martell.

“This is not _The Loves of Queen Nymeria,_ ” she pronounced. “ _The Loves of Queen Nymeria_ is the best book ever written. I have a signed copy of it on my nightstand. This is the grotesque creation of someone that hasn’t even read it.”

She expected Jaime to make fun of her. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as if considering her words.

“It’s not good,” he agreed. “What a shame. I was looking forward to this.”

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read the book?”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes. “I definitely know it better than you do. I’d bet that _you_ have never spent the holidays at Starfall with the Daynes.”

Brienne choked, too surprised to even be annoyed. “You know Ashara Dayne?”

It wasn’t like Ashara Dayne was some kind of recluse, or even just a rich elitist. Her books did well, but didn’t top the bestseller lists, and she was frequently seen out and about in King’s Landing. Brienne herself had met her a handful of times, at Rhaenys’s mother’s house. But she was still Ashara Dayne, who was decidedly not the kind of person that average people knew well enough to spend the holidays with.

Ashara was recognizable even to people that had never read a word of any of her books, and for obvious reasons: the woman was easily the most beautiful person alive. She’d earned her college tuition through modelling, Brienne remembered, and even close to two decades later, her good looks could still outshine pretty much everyone on the planet. Jaime, a year or two younger with a very different kind of attractiveness, was one of the few people Brienne could imagine standing next to her and not looking…well, like Brienne looked next to most people. But how would they know each other? Had they been part of the same circle in the way that pretty people always seemed to flock together? Gods, had they been a couple?

If Jaime had seen Brienne naked after having slept with _the_ Ashara Dayne, Brienne was going to have to fling herself into the sun.

“Only in passing,” Jaime said, blessedly cutting off her spiralling thoughts. “But her brother Arthur is a friend of mine. He was the TA for a class I took in undergrad. We’ve kept in touch.”

 _Oh._ So she wouldn’t have to fling herself into the sun. What a relief.

Brienne glanced back at the screen. The blonde girl had stepped close to one of the sailors, pressing a hand to his chest and looking up at him pleadingly, lower lip pushed out into a pout. Brienne winced.

“Ashara Dayne would be a better Nymeria,” she muttered. The author was no Nymeria Sand, but…“At least she’s actually _Dornish._ ”

Jaime laughed. Mercifully, he stopped the episode. He gestured at the laptop. “Then I welcome you to pick what we watch instead.”

She reached for the touchpad. Seeing as the laptop was still on Jaime’s lap, the motion put her face very close to his shoulder. The shoulder she had happened to clutch so tightly last night that she’d probably left bruises. Fortunately, she didn’t dwell on that thought for long. _Unfortunately,_ that was because as she scrolled through their list of options, her traitorous brain started noting how good Jaime smelled instead.

 _Galladon of Morne_ wasn’t an option. That story always made her cry. _A Second Love,_ about Elaena Targaryen and Michael Manwoody…too romantic, as much as she loved it. Ah! _A Dornish Rebellion._ Nothing that would make her cry and no romantic moments that would make her uncomfortable. Perfect.

Her phone went off before she could click it.

Brienne glanced down at it only to frown at the sight of the name and answer immediately – Rhaenys Targaryen. Rhaenys always preferred to text. If she was calling…

“Rhaenys?” she asked. Jaime looked up at the name, eyes narrowing. “What's wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I'm tired. I don't ordinarily go many places, but somehow, social isolation is starting to get to me.
> 
> Also...seeing as this fic has somehow exceeded a serious one that I'm actually very proud of in hits...I'm going to shamelessly plug that one here, because why not: [_if that mockingbird don't sing_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838005)


	5. Chapter 5

In all their years of friendship, Brienne had never once known Rhaenys to babble. Now she was talking so fast that Brienne could only catch about every third word – something about courts and airports?

“Rhaenys,” Brienne interrupted when her friend paused for breath, careful to keep her voice low and soothing. That gentle tone always worked wonders when Rhaenys was angry about something. Perhaps it would when she was worried, too. “Slow down. Start over. What’s the problem?”

“Do you know anyone that can show up in court for me on Monday?” Rhaenys asked, apparently starting in the middle. “I have – my files have everything they’ll need, but I can’t – isolation –”

“I can’t,” Brienne said before Rhaenys could start babbling again. “I’m currently in quarantine. Might have come in contact with someone infected last night.”

Rhaenys swore colourfully. Now _Brienne_ was starting to panic.

“Um,” she said. “Right. Have you tried calling –”

“Everyone with a law degree that lives in the city and I’ve spoken to within the year,” Rhaenys said. “Everyone’s busy, or living with people, or…”

“What about –” Brienne yelped angrily as toes jabbed her in the thigh.

“Brienne?!”

“Sorry. Don’t worry, that was just…” She shot a glare at Jaime, still sitting next to her, now with his knees dragged up to his chin in a way that put his feet right next to her hip. She stopped at the sight of the look on his face – intent, utterly focused.

Jaime gestured for the phone. Brienne pulled back and frowned at him. He gestured again and said, “Let me talk to her.”

“You know Rhaenys?”

Jaime nodded impatiently.

“Elia and I have been friends for years,” he hissed. “I’ve known _Rhaenys_ since she was a kid. Just give me the phone.”

She hesitated, then handed it over. He nodded shortly and laid it on the table, putting it on speaker.

“Rhaenys?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s Jaime. Are you okay?”

“Jaime? What –” Rhaenys cut herself off. She took a few deep breaths. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me the problem?”

“The courts are still open,” Rhaenys said, and her voice was steady again. “I have an arraignment hearing Monday morning, and a bail motion that same afternoon. The courthouse is like a petri dish! I can’t go, my mother –”

“–is immunocompromised,” Jaime finished. His brow creased. “Right. She’s staying with you?”

“Until her new place is ready, so at least until the end of the month,” Rhaenys confirmed. “If there’s a quarantine, I’d rather someone be with her, and since Aegon’s still in Essos and my uncle is working overtime at the hospital, that just leaves me. So me going to work and checking into a hotel is not an option.”

“Have you contacted the chief judge? Tried to get them to close, or delay your cases?”

“First call I made. No luck,” Rhaenys said. She ground her teeth. “Olenna Tyrell is a bitter, racist _harridan_ , and the second I have a spare minute, I’m filing a judicial misconduct complaint against her for being a misogynist that’s completely unqualified for presiding over any cases of consequence.”

Brienne had to smile. Olenna Tyrell had once called Oberyn Martell’s fiancée, the mother of his four youngest daughters, a whore at a public event. Ellaria Sand had been inclined to let it go. The family she would be marrying into in a few months was nowhere near as forgiving. Brienne had to appreciate that protectiveness. Jaime, apparently, did not.

“Later,” he said briskly. “What about your coworkers?”

“Everyone else in the office has a full case load, but I need someone that’s not under quarantine that’d be willing to stand in for me. The arraignment is for a sixteen year old girl that was caught with moon tea without a prescription! That shouldn’t even be a crime! The fact that it is and that she’s being charged during a pandemic–”

“Rhaenys,” Brienne interjected. “Maybe one thing at a time?”

Like magic – like always – the woman settled down. Brienne had something of a soothing effect on Rhaenys. Jaime rolled his eyes affectionately. “I’ll donate to your inevitable political campaign. Until then…have you considered calling your father? To sit with Elia?”

Brienne could practically hear Rhaenys’s eyeroll.

“If I call Dad,” Rhaenys said, “this will all immediately become someone else’s problem, because Mom will kill me. Besides, he’s a flake.”

Jaime frowned. Carefully, he said, “Have you considered…giving him another chance? He’s not a bad person. He loves you. More than anyone.”

Brienne winced in anticipation. Like clockwork, Rhaenys scoffed.

“Oh, how nice of you to explain my own father to me,” she said. “I just – I don’t care. He was too much of a coward to stick up for his wife and daughter to his father. Just because I’m a soft touch bleeding heart that still answers his calls instead of telling him to leave me alone does not mean he deserves any more of my time and forgiveness.”

So she said. But Brienne had been there during Rhaegar and Elia’s divorce. She’d been there when Rhaenys’s eyes had still lit up when her father called or came to visit and when those same things had first started to make her sad instead of happy. She had helped Rhaenys move her harp into her first apartment after college and had felt the calluses on the tips of her fingers whenever Rhaenys had touched her. Rhaegar _mattered_ to Rhaenys.

Brienne had never doubted her own father’s love. But Rhaenys…the love she had never doubted had always been her _mother’s._

“Rhaenys,” Brienne said quietly. “If you don’t want to call your dad, and your other relatives aren’t an option…what do you need? How can we help?”

“Someone has to be there,” Rhaenys said stiffly after dragging in a few deep breaths. “Prisons are incredibly vulnerable to disease outbreaks, and it’s absolutely absurd that people who’ve committed minor crimes are being put at risk like this. Jaime, would you –”

She cut herself off. Her breathing was unsteady. Brienne glanced back over at Jaime beside her, so close they were almost touching. And even though he was possibly the single least patient person she’d ever met, he just waited.

“Would you…” Rhaenys tried again. She drew in another deep breath, then made herself say it, all in a rush: “Would you please call your uncle? If the justice department can issue an order–”

“Yes,” Jaime said. “Of course. And I’ll check if I know anyone that can fill in for you in case Kevan can’t help. There’s sure to be someone.”

Rhaenys sighed audibly. “ _Thank you,_ Jaime.”

“Aside from this, you’re okay?” Brienne put in. “Do you have enough food?”

Rhaenys laughed a little. “Yes, _Mom_.”

“Are you sure?” Jaime asked. “And can you give the phone to Elia, please?”

“By the Seven, Jaime, I’m not a child anymore!” Rhaenys snapped. “You don’t need to talk to my mother as if –”

“Well, excuse me if I want to make sure you’re not driving her insane –”

Rhaenys’s yelp cut him off. “Mom! How long have you been awake?”

There was a brief scuffle. Someone on Rhaenys’s end – accidentally? – turned on the speaker, and Elia’s voice became audible. “– am a grown woman, Rhaenys. I do not need a babysitter, and if you won’t go to a hotel, _I will._ ”

“You are not going to a hotel!”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, no!” Elia agreed, louder. “If you still have to go to work, _I_ will go visit Rhaella for a few weeks and get some peace and quiet!”

Jaime snickered. “Hey, Elia.”

“Oh, hello, Jaime,” Elia said, voice calm and pleasant now. “How are you?”

He teased, “Apparently better than you.”

Elia laughed. Rhaenys growled. And Brienne just covered her face with her hands and groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone still doing okay? I'm currently watching The Untamed and getting KINDA MAD at how ridiculously beautiful everyone is.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaime excused himself to call his uncle from the kitchen, and while she was waiting, Brienne looked down at her phone to see that Rhaenys had sent her a text: _Why are you quarantined with Jaime???_

She started, then deleted, about five responses. Finally, she settled on, _It was an accident. I sort of went home with him last night. And now I’m not supposed to leave._

Brienne smiled in spite of herself at how quickly the response came – Rhaenys and her harpist’s fingers had long mastered the ability to fly over keyboards and type in complete sentences with perfect spelling and grammar, peppered through with emojis, faster than most mortals could peck out a few misspelled words and abbreviations. When she was stressed, it was even worse. _You did what?_ _🤯🤯🤯_ _With Jaime?! The Jaime that you work with and that’s thirteen years older than you? 1) Who are you and what have you done with Brienne? 2) How did I not find out about this immediately?_

 _I didn’t even know you knew him!_ Even as Brienne hit send, she could imagine Rhaenys’s indignant eyeroll.

_Well, how was it?_

Brienne barely had time to blush before Rhaenys sent another text, this one reading, _No, wait, don’t answer that, that’s gross, I don’t need to think about Jaime having sex. How are you holding up now? Not dying of awkwardness?_

She couldn’t help but smile at that.

 _Not anymore,_ she typed back, then added, _your call was a pretty good ice breaker. Thanks._

_Glad I could be of service._ _😂😜_

Brienne set down her phone as Jaime stepped back into the living room.

“Well?” she asked as he moved to sit down next to her once more. Jaime just shrugged.

“He said he’ll make a few calls. Rhaenys can relax, the courts will probably close for a while.”

Brienne sighed in relief. “That’s good.”

But Jaime did not look especially relieved. His eyes weren’t gleaming; his bright white teeth were not bared in a careless grin. Instead, his eyebrows knit together, jaw clenching, fingers tapping against his thigh restlessly. Brienne sat up straighter. “Jaime?”

“Is she really still this mad at Rhaegar?” he asked abruptly. Brienne made a face.

“Why shouldn’t she be?”

Rhaenys loved her father, even when she wouldn’t admit it. But that didn’t mean Rhaegar deserved that love.

The silence stretched out long enough that Brienne didn’t think she would get an answer and had torn her gaze away from him when Jaime said, “I knew Elia long before we were friends.”

Brienne looked back at the man sitting next to her, and he continued, “Rhaegar, too. Our families ran in similar circles. When I was fifteen, sixteen, I used to…look after Rhaenys, sometimes. When Rhaegar and Elia both had to work at the same time.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up in a mirthless smirk. “Dad hated it. _Lannisters don’t babysit,_ he used to say. It didn’t help that he and Rhaegar’s father were not on good terms.”

Brienne couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Rhaenys was not fond of her grandfather, and over the years, Brienne had heard plenty about him, none of it good. But most of it had revolved around his racist abuse of Rhaenys and Elia. The Lannisters were many things, but _Dornish_ was not one of them. “Really?”

Jaime nodded slowly. “They used to be friends. But they had some kind of falling out, some business dispute, and me babysitting Rhaenys made it worse.”

He huffed a small laugh and admitted, “I rather enjoyed it, though. Children aren’t…my sister has three, and I’ve only ever really had any kind of relationship with the youngest. Tommen. But Rhaenys was always easy.”

 _What does this have to do with Rhaenys forgiving Rhaegar_? Brienne wanted to ask, but Jaime’s voice was quiet, his eyes distant, and she found herself leaning in towards him and holding her breath, waiting for him to continue. Sunlight still poured in through the window, giving Jaime’s hair a golden glow, but these felt like secrets that weren’t hers to know, secrets that belonged to moonlit nights.

She didn’t know what this had to do with anything. She didn’t know why Jaime was telling it to her. But it felt important anyway.

The creases at the corners of Jaime’s eyes deepened. Thirteen years older than her, and he looked every day of it.

“Rhaegar…” And now Jaime’s voice went testy, eyes sharpening. Brienne shifted uncomfortably. “As difficult as it may be for you to believe, Rhaegar adored Rhaenys. He used to write songs for her. He played with her all the time, put her on his shoulders and carried her everywhere. After one incident with Aerys, he got her a kitten to make her feel better.”

 _Balerion._ Rhaenys had loved that cat dearly, even if the little hellion had hated everyone else. Even she softened towards Rhaegar in that context, admitting that no one had ever given her a better gift. Still, Brienne bristled.

No one in the _world_ had less patience for mediocre men that couldn’t grasp the basic rules of socialization and didn’t know how to apologize than Rhaenys. After Ronnet Connington had laughed in Brienne’s face on a blind date freshman year of college, when Brienne had been trying to fold in on herself while telling Rhaenys the story, Rhaenys had slapped her lightly on each cheek and dragged her up.

 _He’s the problem,_ Rhaenys had said briskly. _Not you. Now let’s go find him so I can explain to him exactly how one ought to treat other people and why it’s in his best interest to issue an apology that you have absolutely no need to accept._

“Oh, a _kitten,_ ” Brienne said. “I’m sure that sort of guilt gift completely makes up for all the times he did nothing while his father was insulting his wife and children.”

Rhaenys and her brother had always had to visit their grandfather on Landing Day, commemorating when the first Aegon had landed on Westerosi soil and begun his conquest. Their mother’s family, like most Dornishpeople, did not celebrate. Aerys Targaryen had passed the time by making derisive comments about the colour of Rhaenys’s skin and how at least Aegon looked Targaryen. Brienne still remembered Rhaenys and Aegon’s matching smiles when they could finally stop going, once Aegon had finally turned eighteen. It had lasted about three seconds before Rhaenys had groaned and pointed out that they could hardly leave their grandmother to fend for herself. Fortunately, Rhaella had divorced Aerys that very year, rendering the point moot, and Brienne had taken Rhaenys and Aegon to her father’s to celebrate on the holiday in question.

Selwyn Tarth’s face at the sight of the very Dornish looking Rhaenys stepping through his front door for a Landing Day meal had been priceless. But her smile had set him at ease, and though the eclectic meal of fried fish, olives, an assortment of cheeses, bread, and roasted potatoes had hardly been traditional fare, it had been perfect all the same. Ever since, Rhaenys had referred to the holiday as _freedom feast time._

“Fathers aren’t easy to stand up to,” Jaime said. “Mine indulged me most of my life. Anything I wanted. A lot of that ended up about making him proud. But when I didn’t want to do what he wanted me to a few years ago, he disowned me. He died not long after that, so I suppose he got the last word there. And he certainly never tried to apologize, to me or my siblings.”

What was there to _say_ to that?

True, Brienne couldn’t imagine Rhaegar ever outright rejecting Rhaenys. Even when he’d hurt her, even at the peak of Rhaenys’s anger, the man loved his daughter. He’d come to her orchestra concerts and visited her on weekends and helped her move even though she’d insisted she didn’t need the help. But…

“That doesn’t make it right,” Brienne said at last. Her own father had told her that words were wind when she’d been upset as a child over someone or the other’s mean comments. But he certainly hadn’t ever allowed anyone to say half the things Aerys had said to Rhaenys. “Or okay.”

“Maybe not,” Jaime conceded. “But I’ve been around Rhaegar and Elia a long time. Most of their mutual friends took sides, even though _they_ managed to keep it civil for their children. Even the Daynes did – Elia got Ashara and Rhaegar got Arthur. I never had to choose. So I know Rhaegar has spent the past fifteen years trying to fix things. And I know if Rhaenys gives him another chance, he won’t waste it.”

Brienne couldn’t take her eyes off Jaime’s face. His eyes were more serious than she’d ever seen them, pinning her in place. For an instant, all she could do was stare.

The moment passed, and he flashed her a brilliant smile instead. He hauled his laptop back up from the coffee table. “Okay, come on, we’re watching _A Dornish Rebellion_ now. I’m unclear on the details, but Elia was extremely enthusiastic. Something about scorpions?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the odd liberties I took in modernizing Westeros that probably don't make much sense - for example, Aerys's racism towards Elia and Rhaenys doesn't quiiiiite make sense in a world a few hundred odd years after the series, in which the Dornish would have likely intermarried a lot more with the rest of Westeros. But anyway. Landing Day as Westerosi Thanksgiving, I guess? Which the Dornish don't celebrate for obvious reasons? Forgive me, don't think about it too much. Sorry this took a while. I got distracted by the next instalment of my Princess of Summerhall verse. Also, other stuff. Life is stressful. Anyway, how are you guys doing? Hope you're all staying safe!


	7. Chapter 7

“Damn,” Jaime said, once the movie was over. Brienne could only nod.

“Seven _hells_ ,” she agreed, awed. “What a way to die.”

Jaime moved his laptop back to the coffee table and shook his head. “I…would not have guessed this would be Elia’s thing. Who would have thought someone so sweet could be so vicious?”

“What?!” Brienne exclaimed. “She’s not _vicious,_ the man had it coming.”

“How does anyone have _dying by a hundred scorpions dumped on them from the ceiling_ coming?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brienne said. “But I think aiding in an unprovoked war of aggression for the sake of a teenager’s ego, committing war crimes, and attempting to summon a girl to be raped is probably a good start.”

Jaime shook his head again, in disbelief rather than disagreement. “Think any of that actually happened?”

Brienne could only shrug. History was full of stories stranger than fiction. This one, true or not, was compelling, even without as much romance and adventure as Brienne favoured.

“Maybe,” she said. “If it didn’t, I can see why it would become a popular story in Dorne. It’s like reclaimed propaganda. People are always making movies about Aegon the Conqueror as if he were a hero, not a genocidal maniac, right? Why not a rebellion against the descendants of that legacy?”

Jaime smiled a little. “Dornish folk heroes. Makes sense. It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

“Romantic?”

Jaime’s catlike eyes gleamed. “It wasn’t the lords that started the rebellion, right? Not really. After Lyonel Tully, nothing would have happened without the peasants revolting. Without a man that laid rooftiles in Yronwood, maybe Dorne would never have been free again.”

Brienne thought of kindergarten and Rhaenys and sitting together at Elia or Selwyn or Rhaegar’s knee and listening to the tales, true or false, she’d always found so ensnaring – the Sword of the Morning and Galladon of Morne, Davos the Dragonslayer and the Amethyst Empress. Jaime’s wistful smile brought all of them and more to mind. She didn’t try to hold back her own smile.

“A true nation state,” she said. “One that lasted well after unification.”

Jaime’s smile broadened.

“You know,” he said, “Ashara’s working on a book about how Dorne joined the Seven Kingdoms. Apparently, it was through _marriage._ ”

Brienne nodded. She dimly remembered that from the opening paragraph of Rhaenys’s paper on modern Westerosi law. “That’s where the precedent for women’s property rights came from. Dornish law.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Jaime complained. “I expected a better reaction than _that._ ”

“What exactly were you expecting?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jaime drawled. “I just told you that the woman that wrote what you consider, and I quote, the best book ever written is writing another book and all you can come up with is something about Westerosi common law? Maybe something more along the lines of that yelp you made last night when I –”

“ _No,_ ” she grated, even as she flushed. “You said you’d stop bringing that up!”

Jaime laughed and raised his hands before leaning back against the armrest of the sofa and propping himself up on an elbow. “I was _going_ to say when I told you about Edmure Tully calling his uncle a selfish asshole that prioritizes his personal gain over his actual responsibilities.”

Brienne’s face continued to burn. With what she considered admirable composure, she said, “Did he really say that? Good for him.”

“Come on,” Jaime continued. “Admit it. You’re going to be first in line to buy this book.”

Now that he mentioned it… _The Loves of Queen Nymeria_ was romance and political intrigue all wrapped up in Ashara Dayne’s deft, dreamy prose. If this new book was even half as good…

“Fine!” she admitted. “Presuming we’re ever allowed outside again, Rhaenys and I will take a couple days off, get copies together, and lock ourselves in a room to finish them. Happy?”

“Thrilled. I’ll bug Ashara for an advanced copy, just so I can be sure I can text you spoilers.”

He dissolved into laughter as she threw a cushion at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry. Depression from a pandemic, grad school applications, and a world on fire both figuratively and literally, you know how it is. Everything is garbage. Hope you all are safe and healthy!


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